


Lucas

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: The Witness Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Gen, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 07 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one had understood. How could they? Watching his father die at the hands of what amounted to a monster lurking beneath the water had terrified him into silence. Then the man had come and Lucas had known he understood from the expression in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucas

**Author's Note:**

> For all intents and purposes, in this series I recognize the year that never was so the SPN universe is one year ahead of our world. Also, I could find no mention of how old Lucas Barr was in Dead in the Water so I’m guessing he was around ten using my BFF’s boy as a measuring stick. So I guess you might consider this AU from canon.

When it came time to leave for college, Lucas Barr knew it would be harder than anything he’d ever done. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t experienced difficult things in his short life, nearly eight years before he’d witnessed the death of his father, and for a time he understood what true terror could do to a boy.

At seventeen, Lucas little resembled the small boy rescued from the center of Lake Manitoc all those years before. He stood nearly six feet, taller than his mother Andrea and his body was slim yet nothing but solid muscle. The only thing that remained was his shocking red hair, a gift from his long dead father and the freckles he’d come to hate (on occasion) that dusted the bridge of his nose.

The one thing he did know was no matter how protective his mother was she would never be able to keep him safe one hundred percent. Part of the reason he knew this was the man. When his father had died some part of him realized no one would believe what he’d seen, even after the police were unable to recover Chris Barr from the water. After his father’s death, Lucas began to have what he knew now were visions, but then had believed were dreams. The man, his name was Dean, seemed to get what Lucas had gone through more than his own family did and he assured Lucas no matter what he said he would be believed.

Dean hadn’t lied and neither had his brother, despite never truly speaking to Lucas, he’d had the same understanding gleam in his eyes. He owed them both a great deal and as he sat outside the bus depot in the harsh summer heat, nervous mother at his side he wondered if he would ever see them again.

“Lucas, are you scared?” his mother asked.

What she really meant was ‘I’m terrified, don’t go. I can’t protect you if I’m not there.’

He leaned in head resting on his mom’s shoulder and grinned, peering up through shaggy hair. “It’s okay to be scared, Mom.”

Rolling her eyes, she shifted on the hard bench, forcing him to set up and look into her eyes. They sat quietly staring at one another for a few seconds and then she pulled him into her arms, remembering what it was like the day she and Chris had brought him home from the hospital. Lucas rubbed her back, taking in the clean fresh scent of her perfume, something light and citrusy he associated only with her.

“Don’t cry, Mom.” He whispered in her ear. “I’ll be fine. You raised a smart kid, a strong one, too.”

He could feel the laughter vibrate through her as she squeezed him harder before pulling back, slim fingers gripping his shoulders. “I know you’re smart, sweetie, but I still…”

As her words trailed off, he saw the memories of that horrible year rise in her eyes. He’d lost his father true, but his mom had lost so much more. She’d lost her husband and then watched her own father wade out into the lake, claimed by the spirit of a long dead boy. Neither of their bodies found, two empty coffins lowered in the ground, in memory. Even after they drained the lake, there had been no sign of them or the other victims. Soon after, they’d moved to a small land-locked town where the biggest body of water was the town’s public pool. He was all she had left and he understood more than she would ever know how that felt.

She was all he had as well.

Leaning in, Lucas pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek with a smile. “There’s my bus, Mom.” He tried not to notice the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he felt his throat close up. “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’ll go by quicker than you realize.”

Andrea nodded and stood as the bus to Boston came to a halt, people tumbling out of the depot to board. “I couldn’t have asked for a better son. You do know I love you—right? That I’m proud of you?”

“Yeah, I do.” He pushed up, shifting the backpack over one shoulder and wrapping his free arm around his mother as they headed to the bus.

Letting a child go for the first time was the most difficult thing for a parent to do, but then Andrea wasn’t simply any parent. In the years following their run in with the Winchesters, she’d known things no parent should know. There was always salt in the house, a canister in every room, and there were nightlights scattered throughout the house so the shadows never grew too dark. Andrea slept with both an iron poker and a loaded shotgun within reach. From every window crystals and dream catchers spun.

Lucas’ friends at school were fascinated with the oddities as most kids were. He never bothered explaining—would they’ve even believed him?—because he knew kids were simply kids. Eventually, their fascination had faded and life continued. There was one kid though, a girl, that never lost her fascination with those oddities. Heather was an oddity herself, just as Lucas felt he was. In the end they’d become best friends and Lucas told her the story of how his father and grandfather died. He told her about Sam and Dean, how Dean had been the only one willing to listen to a traumatized kid even if the only thing he spoke in was crayon. He also told her things he’d never told his mother.

Boarding the bus, he took a seat and waved at his mother from the window. Through the dusty glass, he could see the tears she’d waited to shed, cheeks shining with salty trails. His mother’s obsession with keeping him safe was the reason he never told her the truth. The truth would have simply frightened her, complicated matters between them, and he never wanted to see the fear in her eyes again he’d witnessed the night she’d nearly been drowned by the spirit that had claimed his father.

As the engine came to life, bus pulling out onto the street, Lucas reached in his backpack and pulled out a thick leather bound journal along with a ballpoint. He’d started keeping the journal shortly after they’d moved and had gone to extreme lengths to keep it hidden from his mom. There were few words in its pages. What filled the pages were drawings, the visions of a kid haunted by the past, present, and future. Somehow, when he’d witnessed his father’s death, his mind had opened to the impossible. It hadn’t been just the vengeful spirit of Peter Sweeny talking to him. He could see it all now.

No matter where Lucas was he could see those who were lost to the darkness, the ones most people ignored. The pages filled slowly at first, but soon he’d started drawing faster each new sketch greater in detail than the next. Only Heather had known and she’d still liked him, didn’t think him crazy or twisted. The scariest one he’d drawn was the old abandoned convent when he was fourteen; a spiraling thorny vine of what he knew was blood on the cold stone of the chapel inside. Dean had been in that vision along with his brother. Sam had been different, eyes black as ink.

Lucas hadn’t slept a wink for three nights afterward. When he’d heard about a supposed terrorist bombing in Ilchester, Maryland, he knew they were wrong. Sam had released something bad and the year that followed, the drawings had continued coming each more horrifying than the next. Then they stopped. There had been nothing the year after, well nothing as horrible as after the convent, but he knew something huge had happened.

Telling his mother wasn’t acceptable, so he’d relied more and more on Heather. Then one day he realized he was in love with his best friend. The last time he’d spoke to Heather was to text her with his arrival time in Boston. She’d graduated mid-term and entered college in January, Heather was the only reason his mom had agreed to allow him to attend Mass Art. At least with Heather there he knew someone; he’d have someone to turn to when she wasn’t there.

Staring out the window, he popped the cap of the ballpoint and began to draw, eyes never on the page in his lap. His hand moved quicker than seemed humanly possible, creating lines and shadow with the proficiency of a master. After an hour, the pen dropped from his cramped fingers and he looked down into a familiar face—Dean. He was standing on a hill staring down at another figure. This one seemed to be reaching out to one of the dark shadows standing in front of a building. Surrounding the figure Dean was staring at was another figure blurry and yet…

Lucas sucked in a deep breath, whispering the words etched at the bottom of the page. It was impossible, but the drawings never lied. “Castiel lives.”

Seconds later, he was texting Heather, journal hidden away again. She would never believe what was coming and he wondered if Dean already knew. What was more important though was if Dean, the man who’d saved his life so long ago, would forgive the angel who’d pulled him from Perdition.


End file.
